The first time I ever heard about the Wrestler, long before the media frenzy surrounding Mickey Roarke’s astounding comeback and mesmerizing performance lifted the film from obscurity to Oscar-worthy, I was talking with a female friend of mine and trading our personal reviews from movies we had each recently seen. I asked her if she had enjoyed the movie, and she told me, “it was fantastic… but I was NOT prepared for it.”
We discussed the movie further, but her futile attempts to convey the film’s power added little more to that opening sentence. After all, she is a good Catholic girl, the sort of soul who should never enter the painful depths of the wrestling community. This is what genuinely excited me about the movie: the potential for cruel realism, something all too often missing in modern cinema.
I carried her words with me into the theater as I finally sat down to view the film I had heard so much about. Despite my inner giddiness, I was also fairly confident that I would be let down, as so often happens when a movie or performance receives such elongated hype. However, when all was said and done, I left the theater with only one word running through my head: Perfect.
Now, when I say it is perfect, I do not mean that it is the best movie I’ve ever seen. Hell, it’s not even the best movie I’ve seen this month. And yet, this somehow adds to the movie’s majesty: it doesn’t try to be the best movie ever made, it simply is what it is. It is gory. It is bleak. It is intrusive. It is brutally honest. You feel the punches. You wallow in the sorrow. For two hours, you enter the life of Randy “The Ram” Robinson (Roarke); you become excruciatingly, devastatingly, perfectly alone.
The movie opens with a collage of news clips, advertisements, and photos from the peak of his wrestling career, accompanied by the voiceover of fans chanting in support of “The Ram” and a color man giving a radio play-by-play of his most famous fight: his conquest over “The Ayatollah,” a fight he still vividly recalls as if it happened just yesterday. Like a VH1 special, this montage simply screams “’80s!”
The screen then fades to black, and for a brief moment there is a calm silence and an air of emptiness. This calm, seemingly the only moment in the entire film when you can enjoy a peaceful breath devoid of the twinge of bitterness felt deep within your gut, is sourly disrupted by a hacking, wheezing cough. The scene then opens in real time, with a hunched “Ram” sitting alone in the corner of a grade school classroom, facing the wall as if his teacher had given him a “time-out.” His body, while still just as impressive as it is imposing, never-the-less appears used, worn, and broken, like an old G.I. Joe action figure that has lost its luster and has been tossed in the dumpster. He has just completed a fight in a school gymnasium that, while clearly lacking in prestige, still has taken just as much out of his body (if not more) than as if he had been fighting for the World Championship. His reward for such sacrifice: an utterly inadequate wad of cash, not even enough to pay his rent.
A series of similar events ensues, as the audience becomes more and more enraptured in his life of bitter despair. The greatest success of director Darren Aronofsky (Requiem for a Dream (2000), The Fountain (2006)) is the ability to manipulate the audience into understanding “The Ram,” and even living vicariously through him. After all, how many of us can even remotely relate to being a world-class wrestler who loses grip over seemingly everything in his life?
One way in which this transformation into the mind of “The Ram” is made possible is through a certain filming technique used multiple times throughout the movie. While “The Ram” makes his walk from the locker room all the way to the ring (or, later on, in such instances as his walk through a supermarket storage area all the way to its deli), the camera follows directly behind his head, as if Aronofsky has literally attached the camera to Roarke’s back shoulders. We do not see his face, but instead see and hear everything that he does, from the chants and screams of the waiting fans to the creaks of his knees and moans escaping his lips as he takes each deliberate step. This technique places the audience’s perspective within the eyes of “The Ram,” thus allowing us to feel the pain masked by the glory of fame.
The Wrestler is not as much a cinematic revelation as it is a genuine portrait of a man completely out of touch with reality, desperately reaching for a guiding hand in vain. He is completely oblivious to realities of modern culture, and is instead trapped in the ‘80s in all aspects of his life (as made evident in a scene where he plays a neighborhood kid in a game of Nintendo wrestling – “The Ram” vs. “The Ayatollah,” of course – and the boy mentions his adoration for the popular Xbox game “Call of Duty 4”). After all, it was in the ‘80s that he essentially pushed all his chips into the pot and dedicated his life and body to wrestling. He has been so engrossed in this world that he simply never had the opportunity to look around and partake in the most elusive truth to life for him: change.
One of the most fascinating aspects of The Wrestler is its behind the scenes look at the world of professional wrestling. Pro wrestling is often characterized by two words: “staged” and “fake.” These words, used as ammo by wrestling’s critics, are often lumped together and used interchangeably. However, this film helps to clarify major differences within these two words, and goes a long way towards debunking the myth of “fake” in wrestling.
True enough, the wrestling matches are indeed staged. The scene before one of “The Ram’s” fights in which all of the forthcoming opponents – cooped up in the tight quarters of a rundown high school locker room – separate into pairs and begin choreographing their show as the camera pans back and forth through the different match-ups makes this a must-see for all of us who grew up worshipping the likes of Hulk Hogan and Macho Man Randy Savage all on its own. This rehearsal is a part of the sport that is universally understood, and yet rarely seen. While this acknowledgement of a “fix” may seem like it would hinder the athletic performance, it actually does quite the opposite, making the matches seem almost eloquent, like a deeply complex ballet factoring in timing, athleticism, strength, struggle, and of course a captivating choreography. After all, this sport is truly for the fans. Whoever wins and loses means nothing compared to the overall entertainment enjoyed by the viewers.
While the matches are indeed scripted, the action is by no means “fake.” There is nothing fake about the punishing blows, and there is certainly nothing fake about the stapler used in one match (a scene that no doubt added to my lady friend’s lack of preparation). In another fight, “The Ram” is knocked to the ground and then stealthily fetches a sharp white object out of his wristband with which he slices open a nasty gash on his forehead. The act may not be genuine within the context of the fight, but the blood pouring down his face is unquestionably real. The match may have a script, but the script simply calls for the two men to pummel each other until they reach the brink of collapse.
The movie keys on other desolate aspects of “The Ram’s” life outside the ring, such as his attempted reconciliation with his estranged daughter (Evan Rachel Wood) and his personal connection with an aging stripper (Marisa Tomei) who faces similar struggles in dealing with the anguish of being over-the-hill. These characters, however, stand solely to supplement the growing despair we encounter through the eyes of “The Ram.” As I stated earlier, the movie simply is what it is: The Wrestler.
This movie is a remarkable accomplishment for both Roarke and Aronofsky, whose direction and vision enhances Roarke’s stark reality as well as any performance I can remember. It was certainly a dual effort in creating Randy “The Ram” Robinson – whose actual name, we learn, is Robin Ranzinski, despite his attempts to reject such, adding to the bitter taste of denial that runs rampant throughout the story. Marissa Tomei, though honored with an Oscar nomination of her own, does little more than look good naked… But she is quite good at that.
The Wrestler is a movie with nothing to hide, and can be enjoyed by all (even if they are NOT prepared for it). However, it would clearly be enjoyed by some more than others. If you are a wrestling fan, or can relate to being partially stuck in the ‘80s, The Wrestler is an absolute can’t miss. If you fit in both of these categories, you’d be a fool to watch any other movie before your first viewing of The Wrestler.
Mmmm, the smell of Oscar’s gold is pungent, isn’t it Mickey?
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